Famous Last Words
by MonroeStyne
Summary: Several Months after Damian's death, Jason is the only one left to deal with the grief. When Jason's health takes a sudden turn for the worse he makes a plan to redeem himself in the eyes of his family. But what does this have to do with Damian and will Dick and Bruce be able to stop him?
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place about 4 months after Damian is killed.**

 **I don't own any of DC or their characters**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Jason P. Todd**

They used to say that my coming back to life was a miracle, they've long since abandoned the word. More like a curse you mean? It's one of those things you want so badly you could do anything imaginable for it, but once you have it… it's not what you expected. I don't need a fucking pity party. I'm not weak, I don't want someone to come talk me off the ledge. This isn't a cry for attention, this is simple math. It's just… simple math.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror staring at my bare chest. The Lazarus pit washed the scars of that night from my skin, but I can still see them clear as day. I see the large Y shaped incision from my autopsy, the fractured cheekbone, broken pelvis, shattered femur, the fractured skull, the shattered sternum, and the other thirty-seven fractures. I see the burns on my skin from the explosion. _Tick...tick...tick._ Cuts, shrapnel, a dislocated shoulder bulging from the socket. Bullet holes lingering like the burn of ginger in your throat. Tired bruises, dark circles, those are real. Exhaustion, spreading like vines though my body, rooting itself in my face.

I sleep less than Tim now, if that's even possible. I'm not a big fan of the memories it invites, but then again it's not like I can run forever. Speaking of the Red Robin, I tried to stay in touch after what happened. I thought maybe I'd try the whole _brother_ thing out. Eventually he stopped answering. I would worry if I didn't know how well looked after he his. He'll be alright, he has friends, a team, a _family_. The word bile in my mouth. Not like he's my responsibility anyway. I tried to get in touch with Dick last week, the ass didn't talk long before blurting out that no way in hell was he ever coming back to the "death city", and with that he hung up. It's not like they're actually my family, they've tried to make it that way, but it never really turns out how they expected. It's weird how you don't think you need anyone until you're completely alone.

I turn my gaze to the Gotham streets below my window, a dark, dangerous maze of rotting buildings. I'm sure they will be fine without me. No doubt Bruce will find a replacement soon and be back to his old self. Then again, Damian was his _real_ son so maybe not that soon. But who knows? It's not like he's human after all. I look deep into my reflection once more, my once bulky frame whittled to a ghost of a man. Skin and bones, laced with strained muscles. _Weak, pathetic, worthless._ The voice whispers, igniting the anger in my gut. "I'm fine… I'm fine." the small words scream volumes, dripping with despair. _No, you're dying again Jason, and just like last time no one is going to save you._

Gaunt hands in my hair, pulling, pulling, pulling myself away from sanity's edge, holding me from the brink. Hands turn to stone, heavy, uncontrollable. They drop back to the sink, and I brace myself, fighting the turmoil in my skull. But I can't, the voice is chanting, laughing with blood soaked smiles. _Failure failure failure failure…_ The muscles in my jaw go rigid. I'm losing my grip of the ledge, I'm slipping, finger by finger, I try to hold on, I'm fighting but the voices over power me. _FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE._ Something's rising up my throat. Something I can't control. It tumbles from my lips, somersaulting in the poisoned air.

I put a fist through the glass in front of me. The voice in my head speaks once again. _They used to say you were welcome back at the manor, that you were still their brother, but not anymore Jason_. I walk to the far wall, anger boils through my already aching bones. I try to force it down, but what's the point? I give in and pound my knuckles into the wall, destroying the plaster fist by fist. _This is why you can't be around them Jason, you're out of control._ A small heated voice from what started as a harmless brotherly argument screams: _You were better off dead Jason! For everyone's sake!_ Well Damian, you weren't wrong.

Dizziness overtakes me and the pain in my abdomen is prominent. I feel the rattle in my chest as I try to regain my composure, I try to breathe deep but my lungs protest and fight against me. I cough once, twice, blood filling my mouth. Damaged fingers claw at my chest as I cough, heave. There are knives in my body, poison in my brain. It feels like someone is beating my back with a sledgehammer and I lean against the wall for support. Pain, blindsiding me from every escape. When the coughing subsides I stumble back to the bathroom sink, angrily snatching the pill bottle from the counter and empty the last few tablets into my mouth, washing them down with tap water.

I drop my hands and blood slinks to the floor. I always tried to fight the uphill battle, but what happens when I reach the top? I stop for a second searching the ground through foggy vision, I grab the whiskey bottle at my feet and drain it. In my frustration I shatter the bottle against the sink and it dances into a million pieces. Nothing seems to dull the pain, nothing  
seems to keep the voices at bay. _Useless,_ the voice says. _Useless, that's what you are Jason._ The ghosts fight through the fragile tissue in my mind, forcing themselves to be seen. I want to fight them but I feel them coming. I collapse into myself and fall onto my knees. Glass digs into the soft tissue of my shins. I sit back on my heels. Fighting, trying to push the memories away, but they are stronger than me. _Better off dead Jason. You are, and will always be my greatest  
failure. Which hurts more, forehand or backhand? _I clasp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, like I was back in my old house and Dad had just come home and needed something to take his anger out on.

Someone's screaming my name, a young man maybe? The words dripping in hatred, in anger. I curl into myself, away from the sound. Feet walk around me, kicking me in passing. Something cold comes down hard on my shoulders, breaking my spirit into a thousand pieces. I open my eyes desperately searching for the fragments of who I was. The metal comes down on my back again and I force my eyelids shut once more. The feeling all too familiar.

Laughing echoes through my ears burning my eardrums like toxic waste. _Wow! That looked like it really hurt!_ I grind my teeth, trying to force him away. _Which hurts more? A?_ WHAM! Breath, taken from the hollow space in my chest. Falling on all fours, I try to crawl away but his manic voice ensnares me. _Or B?_ WHAM! Nothing like the cracking of your own bones to force you to accept that you're alive. The world is spinning, spinning in nauseating ellipses, tilting, there is blood in my eyes. The pain burns like a brand on my face. "You aren't real!" The sound but a mere wheeze. _A little louder lamb chop I think you might have a collapsed lung!_ I cower, prepare for the worst, prepare for the ticking, for the crunching of shattered bones and forgotten promises underfoot.

But the next blow isn't the same as the last, no, it's from a beer bottle, shattering over my head. _Get your worthless ass up and do something for a change!_ Dad. I retreat into the wall behind me, trying to staunch the blood pouring from my scalp. "I'm sorry!" The words, instinct. I'm 8 again squeaking the words out between blows. I throw my hands up to block my face from the angry ghosts, wondering what I could have possibly done to upset them. But when I open my eyes to face them I'm met with Batman instead.

My body relaxes, "Bruce." I let the air escape me. Begging on my life that he's real, that he's here. I never thought I would think that, but I want him to make the nightmares go away. I start to make my way up to my feet when he kicks me down again, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me back against the cheap wallpaper. I'm again struggling for breath, blood forcing its way up my windpipe choking me. Already fragile iconoclasm shattering and raining down on me. Bruce is slamming me against the floral design again and again. I hurl my fists at him, kicking and clawing with all of my might, but his grip on my shoulders are so tight I hear tendons snap. "Bruce what are you doing?" I manage to tremble, trying to understand. He holds me like a ragdoll pinning me, his face inches from mine. Then he says something to me I would never expect. I can handle insults with snarky comments but the bluntness of this certain blade caught me off guard. "I never loved you Jason." That's it, that one fear you always expect but it never really comes to life. Now it has, waking slowly, like a dark dragon, there's nowhere to run. "You were expendable to me. Just another failed experiment. You should've stayed dead." he stands and drops me back to the unforgiving tiles below.

I close my eyes, _not real, not real_ , and when I open them again I'm met with damp white cushions and unforgiving wood enclosing me from all sides. Darkness suffocating me to no end. Panic races through me, I begin to tremble, banging on the unrelenting prison. "No. No. No. NO!" I'm pounding on the door to my coffin, digging into the fabric, ripping the skin from my finger tips on the cold wood. I scream again, throat dry with ash. _What is happening to me?_ I force my hands through the door, drag myself out of the rot only to be faced with my mother, lying dead on the floor. A needle protrudes from the nook of her elbow. _No! Not real! This is not real!_ I scramble away from her lifeless body back to the wall. Breath hitching as I try to convince myself. Cruel mind, playing tricks I couldn't think of if I tried. Pulling my knees to my chest and putting my hands firmly over my eyes I wait. Wait for the drugs to kick in, to chase the nightmares away like the light does the dark. Someone's laughing again but I stay still, refusing to face the ghosts of my past.

The sounds stop and I open my eyes, only to be met with a dark empty apartment. I bring my hands shakily to my head, there is no blood. My shoulders no longer ache. Once broken bones healed. I relax my muscles, and let my head rest gently against the wall. I bring a trembling hand to my face and try to wipe away the tears that make their way down my cheeks. I try to breathe steadily, in and out, in and out. My breaths shaky at best. Not real, it's not real. Body and mind trying to rebuild their walls.

I stand and walk wearily to the kitchen table, defeated. Glancing back at the corner of the bathroom floor, there is no evidence of my torments. I'm so… tired. I just want it all to go away. I snag a pen and paper and collapse into the cheap furniture. My whole being hurts. I scrawl out a note, explaining everything. I finish messily and fold it into an envelope, making my way to the door, stopping as paranoia rears its head at me. I open it gently and drop it in the mailbox, slamming the door behind me and locking it fast. I let myself lean against the wood grain, trying to reassemble the puzzle that is Jason Todd, but there are too many pieces missing to complete it. Helpless to do anything for the next several hours, as my body still trembles violently. I make my way painstakingly back through the apartment. I think of the letter that will make its way to Chicago, think of how it's not on me to be okay anymore, not like I ever was. Then I realize how easy it is to breathe without the weight of the world on my shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**This one is a little short, my Jason chapters seem to be a lot longer so sorry for that! Every chapter will be from a different perspective, and the bold means it's a letter.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Dick J. Grayson**

 **Two mornings later**

I wake to mail in my mail slot, how exciting! The Chicago streets greet me as usual and I groggily make my way to my feet, groaning as my bruised body protests. It was a long night last night. I stumble outside and open the box to find a handwritten letter from Jason of all people. I don't think I've ever seen Jason write anything, let alone a letter. I close the door unsure of whether I should be worried or intrigued, I rip it open, like a child would a candy bar. As I unfold the oddly neatly written letter, something twists skeptically in my stomach. I walk back to my bed and sit to read.

 **Golden Boy,**

 **You win, you're officially the strongest Robin. Ya happy now? I hope so, I guess you deserve to be happy, whatever that means for guys like us. Don't tell Tim about this until he's back from his big mission with the Titans, he doesn't need another distraction. Please Dick, I'm trusting you on this. As much as you want to, don't tell Bruce. If he couldn't save me last time, he won't be able to again, not like he would even try.**

 **I know it's only October but everyone's Christmas presents are in my closet at my apartment, don't forget, it's very important that everyone gets them. I want you guys to have something to help you remember. Make sure Alfred is ok, everyone always seems to forget to check on him. Also don't forget to get Babs out of the cave every now and then, you know how she gets.**

 **I'm sorry for how I've treated you all, it's just part of my nature to push people away before they have a chance to do it first. If we're being reasonable, you can't expect me to be able to trust people anymore anyway, especially after the Arkham incident. I know I'll always be Bruce's greatest failure, but could you do me a solid and get me a title a little catchier? Hey, and make sure the big bad bat doesn't do anything stupid.**

 **I think that when I was brought back the first time it wasn't quite a miracle, but more like a curse. An awful form of punishment for something I had done long ago and don't remember. I'm sick man. Like really sick, back 6 feet under the ground sick. They say that it's the end. Bye bye birdie, for good this time. And you may think that I'm being selfish, that I'm making this choice for me. Why would I do that after knowing what it feels like to be left behind? It's true that I don't want to slowly wither away in a white walled room. It's also because I don't want you guys to watch me wither away in a white walled room. You have lives that need to be lived with no delays on my part.**

 **This is a thought that has been lurking in the back of my head for years, I guess I finally gave up then. When you find out how it happened, can you make it sound heroic on your part? I'll be doing my best on my end but there is only so much a man can do on this many pain killers. I have a chance to make this death better than the last one Dick, and I'm going to take it. Besides, it might not be a popular thought but not everyone wants to be alive.**

 **I'm sorry I couldn't be strong any longer,**

 **Little Wing.**

I read the letter twice, three times, expecting the contents to magically change in my hand. I can't be reading this right. Why wouldn't he have told me sooner? I'm frantic, unsure of how to handle the situation at hand. Whatever he was thinking of doing he could have done by now. I grab whatever clothes are closest to me, my wallet, the letter and rush out the door without another thought. I run down the street trying my damndest to hail a cab. My frantic state catches one of the driver's attention. I nearly leap into the back of the cab and scream "Airport." so sternly I feel the need to apologize. Mind still a blur, I think of what to do, trying not to waste time on blame.

I arrive at Gotham by night fall, my worry turned to wrath. How could Bruce let this happen right under his nose? After everything Jason has been put through, he doesn't deserve to die alone, not again. I sprint through the airport and find Alfred waiting for me outside. I hop in the car and Alfred hastily pulls away from the curb. I called him in the cab and explained as much as my scattered brain could manage. I look over at him as we drive to the manor, anxiety engraved on his face. Jason once told me that Alfred was the one constant friend he's ever had. "Everyone should have an Alfred." he had said. He couldn't have been more right. The man is a superhero, but superheroes can't save everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bruce Wayne**

I'm on the bat computer when I hear distant yelling coming from above me in the manor, I look away from the screen to see a very pale faced Alfred appear at the bottom of the stairs. "Master Dick has returned from Chicago Sir. He has… something to get off his chest." The words were shaky and abnormal coming from such a composed man. That's when I see Dick flying down the stairs. I rise to meet him but he doesn't slow his pace. He runs towards me teeth gritted, knuckles white and eyes burning with tears. I duck just in time, his fist goes flying over my head and before I can comprehend what is going on he swings again catching me in the jaw. I stumble back, bewildered by his actions. Never in his life has Dick had an outburst like this. "How could you?" He yells at me. "How could I what? What's going on Dick?" He releases his fists and his arms fall to his side. He trembles with fury, and I can almost feel the waves of emotion radiating from the young man. He turns to Alfred, wipes at the streams under his eyes and whispers angrily "I was right." And without another word he runs up the stairs. I rush to follow him when Alfred stops me with a hand on my shoulder "It's Master Jason, something is terribly wrong. Please sir…" he looks up, tears in his eyes "Save him this time."

With that I fly up the stairs and harshly grab Dick before he has even reached the door. He stops but refuses to look at me. I have a knot in my throat but I push past it. "Dick, tell me what is going on. What's wrong with Jason?" Silence stretches through the seconds. Dick let's his head fall as he tries to regain his breath. I shake him lightly. "Please." I plead. I can't lose another son. I can't. He turns to face me, eyes red, heart breaking, and anger flooding his voice. "How could you let this happen? He's been right here the whole time, suffering, right under your nose and you don't even know about it." I release him and step back.

"What is wrong with Jason?" I say sternly, trying to hide the utter fear that's consuming me. "He's dying Bruce. He's been dying for who knows how long and you didn't even fucking know about it!" He pushes me away then retreats back into himself, like a dog afraid to be struck. Dying? What does he mean dying? My mind races, pulling at rusted file cabinets in my brain, trying the make the words connect. "I...I don't understand." "What don't you understand?! He's dying ok? End of story. He's going to die again, all because of you!" His voice rising again as he stalks towards me "He might not show it but Jason felt Damian's death just like the rest of us. You pushed us all away! But I have my work in Chicago, Tim has the Titans. Jason… he has no one Bruce, not ever since he and Roy had that big falling out. And you just what? Forgot about him? Figured he would be fine on his own? Have you met the man?" He's yelling again, but he's right. I did push my sons away after… "I'm… sorry." No, I'm more than sorry, but I don't think I have the words to embrace exactly what I'm feeling at the moment. "Like you're capable of being so." He retorts, spitting the words at my chest like a battering ram. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a letter thrusting it towards me. I hesitate before taking it from him. The letter is from Jason, written with a tired shaky hand. I read every word carefully, twice, three times, four. But no matter how many times I read them they don't change. He was right this is all my fault.

Some of the words scrawled out of the slightly crumpled sheet in my hand burn somewhere deep in my chest. But as much as the words hurt me, they spell out pain and grief from Jason. The kind of pain that hurts to see, the kind that requires tremendous strength to handle, the kind of strength I have to admire. Now he's out there alone, with some crazy plan to get himself killed. For someone to go through so much, to come back from the grave, to face dangerous killers every night on the streets only to be taken down by the betrayal of his own body. How cruel can the world be to one man? I fold the letter back and hold it out to Dick, suddenly exhausted. I want nothing more than to just fall asleep and wake from this nightmare, to wake to a world where all of my charges sleep soundly in bed, safe. Dick snatches it back from me, bringing me back to reality. I've failed Jason too many times already to let him down again. There has to be a way to save him. There has to be.

"Suit up." I say absently. "What's the plan?" says Dick, still a hint of anger and doubt clinging to his words. The plan? The plan is simple. I turn to face Dick, I see Alfred hovering about twenty feet away, listening intently. "We're going to save your brother." Alfred lets out some kind of sigh of relief. Sometimes I forget about how much he loves them, all of them. And as Dick and I walk down stairs I stop in front of Alfred, realizing something. "Thank you Alfred." "For what Sir?" "For being a better father to them then I'll ever be." I catch the ghost of a bittersweet smile play on his face as I walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jason P. Todd**

 **Three months ago**

I leap into action, running as fast as I can towards the woman's screams. I somersault off the rooftop and land in front of her in the alley. I turn to face the jackasses, guns in hand. There are 5 of them, all of them huge men armed with anything from guns to night sticks to … crowbars. "Hey could you mind putting that fucking thing down? Crowbars and I have a bit of a history." The man looks down at the weapon and smiles a nearly toothless grin back up at me. They all readjust themselves, getting ready to fight. I put a hand back towards the woman "Run." I say plainly. She obeys, snatching her purse off the ground by my feet and taking off. I get ready. I'm going to enjoy this.

The first man starts shooting as the other 4 rush at me. I lunge forward grabbing one of the men by his shirt and using him as a shield. The first dumbass keeps shooting at me, shooting his own partner. Thugs, man. It's just too damn easy. I hurl that guy at the other 3 while the first guy reloads. I jump forward and slam the butt of my gun down on someone's temple, I shoot the other guy in the knee and he falls face first on the ground in a cushion of agonizing screams. Easy peasy, it's gonna be an early night.

But then I'm suddenly dizzy and I try to shake it away, the world makes an alarming tilt and I struggle to keep my balance. _What the fuck is going on?_ I reach out for a wall, dragging my eyelids shut in the feeble hope that when I open them again the world will be righted. Instead I'm met with a small boy squatting precariously on the fire escape above me. I blink again, _this can't possibly be real._ "Tt, really Todd? I might not have liked you but at least I respected you. But this?" He gestures to the lowlifes around me, "This is just laughable. I know you could have taken them all out by now, what's wrong? Is the strong almighty Todd going soft?" if this conversation were real i would have been angry, but I just stare at the boy. This can't actually be happening right? He stands with his hip cocked as he glowers at me. "Damian?"

Then the first guy starts shooting at me and a flash of pain registers. I wretch the crowbar away from the last guy swinging it down hard on his chest. Then swing around and slam the crowbar down on the other man's head. He drops his gun and crumples to the ground. I take a second to regain my footing, planting my feet solidly into the pavement.

I look around for the boy but he's no more than a wisp of smoke. My body aches, but the adrenaline is still pumping through my system, dulling any real pain. I pick up an anonymous phone and dial 911. "Yeah you're gonna want to come down here and get these low life's before the living ones wake back up, they're in crime alley." I drop the phone to the ground and notice something warm spreading down my abdomen. I look down and see red. Suddenly the pain hits me like a freight train and I lose my balance almost falling to the cement but I catch myself. I gotta get out of here. I gotta get home. I stumble away clutching my ribs. The dizziness is back and I can't see. A voice in my head says _call Bruce. He can help you._ Never. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to stand up straight despite the protest of my ribs. I try for another step and fall to the ground. _Man the fuck up Jason_! I scream in my head. I look down at my torso and wrestle myself out of the armor. I let out a scream of pain through clenched teeth. My side has turned to a fucking Niagara Falls of blood and I can't seem to slow the pour. I reach up and force my helmet off my head and try to breathe, but I can't catch my breath. I shove my hands into the wound and wince. I'm starting to lose consciousness. If I pass out here I'll die for sure. In my last few minutes of clarity I wrap my helmet in my armor and shove it out of sight behind the dumpster I'm leaning on. I pick up my phone, dialing 911. "Shot… help…" Is all I manage before I slip away entirely.

I wake to bright lights and itching hospital gowns. I try to sit up but the black spots crowd me when I try to do so, I take the hint and lean back. The pain causes a sharp cry and a spike in my heart rate that sends a nurse speeding into my room. She rushes to my side checking my IV, and upping my dosage of pain meds. She steps back and says rather calmly "Mr. Peters, you are lucky to be alive." the drugs in my system wrap my memories of the last few hours in a deep fog, causing unanswerable questions to rise like bile up my throat. It's when I finally look up to meet her gaze that I catch the waterfall of fiery hair, the glasses perched ever so perfectly on the tip of her nose. No wheelchair, no snide comment. "Barbara?" The words choke out in a weak rasp. "I'm sorry what?" I blink and the woman in front of me is no longer my closest friend and ally, but a young tired woman with blonde hair tied back tightly with dark circles under her eyes. She studies my lost expression for several moments before a look of sorrow overtakes her. She checks the pager on the waist of her pants and declares the doctor will be in shortly and scurries away again. _That was weird._ Despite the obvious fact that I'm losing my mind there is something that nurse chick didn't tell me.

A few minutes later the doctor waltzes into my room. "Drake Peters, I'm glad you're awake." He says flatly. Drake Peters is one of my many aliases, must have been the ID I had on me. The doctor continues. "Now I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we were able to remove the bullet from your abdomen with little damage to your internal organs, it should be fully healed in a matter of weeks." I let my attention wander, I've heard this spiel before. "Drake?" Do I really have to listen to this? I ask myself. Can't you just give me my pain killers and go? "I'm afraid that when we were removing the bullet we came across something unusual…" The doctor slows, forcing the words out. "We've discovered cancerous tissue in many of your major organs." That catches my attention, like sudden nails on a chalk board.

Cancer? No. That can't possibly be right. I jolt up in bed, ignoring the hot flash of pain burning into my chest. "What do you mean cancerous tissue?" Obviously I know what it means, but I need to be sure that it's as bad as I think. "You have late stage Metastatic cancer, what that means is that the cancer has spread throughout your body. It is concentrated specifically in your Brain, Spinal Cord, liver, stomach and prostate; though lower levels are still present in your bloodstream, lungs and bone marrow. I'm very sorry Mr. Peters but there is nothing we can do." The world resides and I'm lost in time for a moment. I don't understand, I can't comprehend. Dizziness, back pains, stomach aches, coughing fits, hallucinations, trouble handling alcohol, it all fits. I just thought that the constant pain was normal… I just pushed it away… I thought…

"Tt" I turn my head to my left to see Damian sitting on the window sill in his costume, knees pulled up to his chest. I'm too stunned to speak. "Doesn't this imbecile know you're supposed to tell people the bad news first?" He shakes his head in disapproval. "Seriously Todd, you should really get yourself a better surgeon." That's when he stands up to reveal the gaping hole in his stomach from where he was stabbed. I lose my breath again. His small frame starts to shudder, he looks down pressing a hand to his abdomen in an attempt to stop the blood from escaping from his body. I try to move to him but my blood is cement, weighing me down, freezing me in place. "Todd… Jason...help… me." I try to move again, fighting with my limbs to cooperate, and in my struggle he collapses to the floor. He's so tiny, curled on his side, his life leaking out of him. Red, like paint. He just looks so small, like I could pick him up and cradle him in one hand. It's true I never really had the best relationship with the kid but he was my brother right? Right?

The doctor snaps me back to reality "Drake? Drake? Are you still with us?" I snap my head to the doctor and then back to where Damian lay, but he's gone. "I can understand this is a lot to handle…" he continues to talk at me, telling me that there are some great facilities that can keep me comfortable before my passing. I don't want to listen, I don't want to believe. I rack my brain. Are you serious? What kind of bullshit is this? I hear the words ring out in my subconscious. He hands me a bottle of painkillers and tells me how long I have left, wishes me good luck, and tells me I'm free to go. He leaves and I'm alone again, something I'm very familiar with.

Is this really how it ends for me? Is this really how Jason Todd meets his demise? Rotting away in a white walled room while I hallucinate because of a brain tumor I suddenly have? Well at least I won't be lonely. I try to acknowledge the humor, but i'm too lost to recognise it. I didn't feel the pain in my ribs as I stood, feeling almost as if I was floating, everything fuzzy and disconnected. Looking over to the floor I can still faintly see the blood seeping out of his tiny body. "Damian… I'm sorry." Sorry for what exactly? For being a prick? For not being there when he died? For not saving him? I don't know.

I guess I got dressed. I don't remember checking myself out. I must have, because I find myself aimlessly walking the back alleys of Gotham hours later. I come to and let myself feel it. The anger, the confusion, the grief. I take it out on a nearby wall. I think of the 215 sunsets I might have left. The number of nights counting down like that red timer in that warehouse long ago. I think of the number of times I have to make things right. Mind still too foggy, heart still too heavy to accept the truth.

 **...**

 **I have the whole story finished, I'm just editing a few things. Th whole story should be published in a few days!**

 **Thanks for reading and don't forget to review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Dick J. Grayson**

 **Present Day**

Back down in the cave Bruce and I gear up, but something still doesn't quite add up. It's true Jason isn't the most social and chatty of people, but I would expect him to reach out in these circumstances. Something must have happened to push him away. _Someone_ must have done something. I turn on Bruce, the thought igniting my anger. That man just can't quit trying to push people away can he? Is he allergic to healthy human interaction or something? "What did you do? To push him away this time Bruce?" He stops what he was doing and looks back at me. "What are you implying Dick?" The words might sound flat and plain to the untrained ear, but I can hear the tension laced within them "Jason might be the type of person to not stay in touch but I would like to assume that when he found out he had a terminal illness, he would reach out! So I'm _implying_ that you did something else to push him away, again." I spit the words out fast, straightening my spine to stare into his eyes, they're impassive as usual. "I don't know what you're-" I cut him off before he can finish "Spare me Bruce." It's long seconds before he relents, and when he finally speaks I can almost taste the guilt in the air.

"Ethiopia." He says plainly. "I took him to Ethiopia." It's all I can do not to tackle him to the ground right now and beat that reckless, selfish, egotistical mind of his into the tile. I try to strangle the fear and anger rising through my bloodstream. "Ethiopia? Are you fucking kidding me Bruce?!" I step closer to the man, eyes narrowed dangerously, fearing if I open them any wider my wrath will pour out of me at a rate I can't control. "You're telling me, you brought Jason back to the place he was tortured and then killed? When he was finally starting to get passed it, starting to be part of the family again? For what purpose Bruce?" Bruce is screaming now, emotion nearly knocking me off of my feet "BECAUSE I WANT TO WATCH DAMIAN GROW UP DAMMIT!"

I don't let the outburst affect me. "At the extent of Jason?" I ask calmly, slowly, the eye of the storm closing in. Bruce turns sharply away from me, I can see him trying to regain his composure. He doesn't even bother facing me when he says "I never thought of it in that way." maybe not, but his little history lesson with Jason was about as dangerous as pushing a vase of a cliff and hoping it won't shatter when it hits the ground. When he finally turns to face me, I shake my head in disgust. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?" "I was doing it for Dami-" "No Bruce…" I cut him off "You were doing it for you." Disgust isn't a strong enough word to color what I feel. I swiftly turn away saying quietly, but with as much heat as a burning ember "Don't bother following me… I can fix your mess on my own."

I'm almost to the door of the cave when he speaks again. "He's my family too, Dick." The words are small, guilty and rightfully so. I want to run to the man and rip that cowl off his face, to find the man buried miles beneath the surface, hiding. I used to know that man. He used to be my friend, my father. But he long since has disappeared, well before even Jason came along. I'm sad, that the other boys didn't know this man, they deserved to know _him_ , not this shell. "No, he's not. Not anymore." His voice calls out once more "Jason has fought aliens and been to parallel worlds. He's died and come back, don't underestimate what he can do Dick." "Unlike you I never have." The door swings silently shut behind me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Jason P. Todd**

Every night I'm out here, I'm reassured it's the right thing to do. The night is young, and I might as well enjoy it, after all it's my last. I swing from roof to roof, ignoring the ache in my bones, the jackhammer in my head and the shards of glass in my stomach. For a second, just one blissful second, I let myself forget about the pain.

When I land on the next roof I know what is there to meet me. I land silently and walk over to the hunched figure. We are at the edge of Gotham, in a sort of collapsed laboratory. "Are you going to miss it?" "Probably." I respond looking out at the skyline trying my best to ignore the figures that followed me hear, lurking in my subconscious every waking minute. It wouldn't be the first time I'd left this place. "What about you jackass?" "I think I will." He responds, coldly, like a snake preparing his next meal. The way he smirks makes me want to shoot him, but I figured I'd take a page out of the _Super-Broody-Club_ handbook. I won't kill tonight, or ever again for that matter. _We don't cross that line Jason. It makes us as bad as them Jason._ Yeah, yeah Bruce. I know. I guess, I figured I might as well try one last time to make the damn robot proud of me. I've been trying my whole life to make that happen. Maybe this will do the fucking trick.

"Are we clear on the plan?" The gravelly voice questions from beside me. "Yeah, you take the energy from my body and transfer it to Damian. Then I die painfully. Leaving anything out?" A cruel smile slinks its way across the man's face. My ego cripples in pain at the thought of this guy ending the mighty Jason Todd. The one and only man who can screw everything up perfectly, and this bozo was going to be responsible for taking me out. Ouch.

I turn to the man, who has his hands out palms up, waiting. I sigh inwardly as I place my guns, my knives, my explosives and my body armor all in hands. He struggles to put all of if my equipment into a crate at his feet. I'm left exposed, shirtless in the cold wind. He stands up straight again and gestures at my mask. "Um...no. Sorry pal, the hood stays on." easier for me to hide the pain that way. The stout man frowns at me, disappointed. "Shame." He replies. "I wanted to watch your eyes glaze over."

Jesus! How fucking grim can this little guy get. I sigh again, causing my lungs to burn. And just as this grimy little creature starts to lead me inside. I hear the soft sound of footfall on the roof behind me. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. "Is it too much of me to ask for you to just leave me alone." I ask over my shoulder causing the short man to stop in caution beside me. "Yes Jason. You know it is." Dick's voice is strained. I turn to face him, he's in his usual _I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass_ stance. Figures. I look down at the man by my side. "Can you give us a sec?" He's reluctant but knows there is nothing he can do about it so he lets out a deep growl before slipping just off to side, concealed by darkness.

I turn back to Dick and reach up, removing my helmet before approaching him. As I walk slowly forward I see he's about to open his mouth. I talk first, stopping him. "Before you say that there is another way to do this I would like you to consider something." I walk even closer, arms reach away. "I've thought this through Dick, every last scenario and this is the only way it works out for everyone." I shrug slightly. Dick's voice is quiet, afraid, like someone walking across a thin sheet of ice, expecting to fall through at any moment. "But we can help you Jay, we can figure this out, please." "You don't understand! There is no figuring this out, Okay? This is it. This is how it ends." He tries once more, his words reaching for me gently. "Just come home Jay, you could be with us. You don't have to be alone."

I collapsed into my spine and look up at the sky, I'm so tired. I just don't have the energy to fight with him. "No. I'm sorry" There's more that I want to say but I can't seem to find the words so I turn to leave. He suddenly kicks the back of my knees, sending my helmet rolling across the roof in front of me, and me landing on the ground with a groan. Pain burns in my face. I don't move, in fact I'm not sure I can. I just sit on my heels, feeling the hurt and confusion wash over Dick. "You don't get to just walk away Jason, you have to fight!" His voice shrill and loud. Walk away? Is he serious? Anger now prickling its way through me and I get to my feet and charge him stopping inches from his face. "Haven't I fought enough? Huh? You don't get to pretend to understand Dick. You don't know what it's like, you don't know what any of it's like. I fight for every goddamned breath I breathe Goldie. And you can't walk away from a family if there isn't one."

The words tumble out before I can stop them. He looks down. I want to explain everything but if he stays here he'll be in danger as well, the energy from a life is a powerful one, it can destroy a person, and I'm here to bring back a brother not lose another one. I back away slowly, I turn to leave but he's suddenly upon me, he punches down hard on my back. The pain, I can't see, I can't breathe. I try to turn around to retaliate but he kicks me in the stomach. I can't feel my legs beneath me anymore. I try to say something to him but I'm seized by the blood spurting from my mouth I collapse on all fours, trying to blink the spots that walk the tightropes on the edge of my vision. _You can't die yet Jason._ Dick's at my side in an instant, slurs of apologies follow, none of which I can make out.

As the world around me slowly comes into focus my raspy voice calls out to Dick. "I guess I didn't mention how bad it is." I roll over onto my throbbing back, still clutching my stomach. Dick's eyes are painted with worry. "Stage four, in my bones, blood, lungs, brain, stomach and just about everywhere else too." I wipe the bloody spray from my face with the back of my hand. "Now do you see why I want to do this?" I ask weakly. When I look to Dick again I'm surprised to see tears racing down his cheeks. "Please don't do that, you're gonna make me start crying." I get a small laugh in return. "What exactly are you doing?" I ignore the question, and get to my feet slowly, unsteadily. I start to lose my balance and find myself in a tight embrace. And for the first time in a long time, I welcome it.

The Joker's voice reaches through the moment and hisses "C'mon bird boy, you know he can't stay, unless you want him to die, a plan that sounds great to me by the way." I don't want to let go, but the voice is right." Aw is the poor little birdy scared? Huh? How bout I just kill you now then?" The cold metal dances along my bare back, sending goose bumps racing along my skin. _No. I'm not scared. I can do it._ "Are you sure? I don't think Daddy Bats or brother bird think you can do anything do they? That's why they're here Robby, to stop you. They don't believe in you, they never have!" The anger burns hot through my damaged lungs. He's right, they've never believed in me. I will just have to make them believe then.

I pull away, he's gotta get out of here, preferably now. "You have to go now." He starts to protest. "I said now!" I snap at him. There was no way I was putting him in danger. I push him away, harshly. "It's too dangerous, you need to go now." I take off towards the interior of the roof as fast as my feeble state will allow. My shove was enough to disorient him and by the time he starts to run, I'm already in the doorway. I slam the heavy iron door shut and he slams his fists on the window from the other side. He must have seen the coffin, lying on an examination table in the stunning lights, because he begins to scream at me from beyond the glass. "What are you doing?" I glance behind me at the coffin, it's so small, caked with dirt. I look back to meet Dick's eyes. "I'm finally doing something right." I let the smile break through the tension. _Yes, I'm doing the right thing._

I step back from the glass, Dick still fighting on the other side. When I look back to the tiny coffin on the table I see the stout man has materialized behind it. Fucking magic man. "Are you ready?" ready as I'll ever be, I assume. I nod and walk over to the chair facing the small wooden box. The cold metal of the chair causes my skin to tickle with chill bumps. Leather straps embrace my wrists and ankles, and I hope they're strong enough to hold me. Once I'm secured, the small man begins to speak. "In order for you to transfer your lifeforce to someone who is deceased, you must die the same way that they did." He explains, gesturing to a very large blade leaning against the wall to my left. I take the opportunity to glance around the room.

It's small, and besides the window in the door there are none. The room holds Damian's coffin, a metal table, next to it is a smaller table. Behind the coffin there is a wall of machines hooked up to the tiny lifeless body, ready to deliver oxygen, monitor heart rate, and administer fluids. On the smaller table there is a stone bowl, a mismatch of herbs and a small jagged shard of some sort of ancient stone. The sorcerer continues. "Before that happens…" He continues, not skipping a beat. "I have to perform a very powerful spell to prepare your energy to transfer with that of the little one. For this spell I will need at least a pint of your blood, and you're not allowed to lose consciousness." There's always a catch. As the man turns from me to retrieve the jagged blade from the small table I take the opportunity to ask. "Is there any particular reason that we're in what looks like a fucking armored lab?" He turns back to me, the wicked smile again is present. "As a matter of fact yes, we need this room to contain your energy during the transfer." the thought of my fucking humanly essence or some shit, just floating around all willy nilly sends chills down my aching spine. "Naturally."


	7. Chapter 7

**Dick J. Grayson**

The glass won't budge. I'm banging on it not daring to even welcome the thought of giving in. I hadn't noticed before but Jason has lost a tremendous amount of weight, his bones protruding from his body like stray wisps of hair, out of place. In the unusually bright lights I notice the deep purple bruises coloring his body, the way he walks… how hard he tries to conceal the pain he feels when he breathes. He's looking at the coffin across the room a strange expression engraved on his face. I have my theories, but it just doesn't add up. "I'm finally doing something right." He said. He was smiling when he said it, a genuine smile. One I hadn't seen in years. My hands start to throb on the glass so I stop, settling for just resting my hands on the glass. Jason, What are you doing?

The small man in the room with Jason starts walking back in his direction, holding what looks to be a small jagged blade. In his other hand he cradles a beautifully crafted stone bowl. Anxiety spins in my stomach, like a young buck pacing behind the gate. The man stops and stoops by Jason's wrist, setting the bowl on the floor gently beneath it. He then takes the blade and begins slicing down the length of his fore arm. No, slicing isn't the right word, the ragged edge of the blade catches several times, _ripping_ through his flesh. Jason yells out behind clenched teeth, sweat beading from his forehead. His muscles writhe beneath tissue paper skin. I scream again, pleading for my voice to reach him. "Jason! Jason look at me! Look at me Jay!" Nothing. His chest rises and falls rapidly, he shakes his head trying to clear it.

In my panic I almost don't notice I'm punching the door again, blood seeping out of my cracked knuckles. The small man smiles widely at Jason as he struggles beneath his restraints. He says something I can't catch and Jason glares back at him, even from here I can feel the sarcasm in his voice. He bangs his head back against the head of the chair and the small man walks away, pleased. He approaches the small table and with his back to me begins measuring herbs and throwing them into the bowl. I turn my attention back to Jason his skin is so pale under the fluorescent lights. His chest shutters slightly with every breath he takes, and suddenly he's that scrawny street rat that Bruce brought home one day.

I look down at my hands, leaving red marks on the metal like unorganized thoughts on a chalkboard. I stare at my hands for several minutes, memories betraying me, stabbing icy knives into my heart. Then it truly hits me, Bruce wasn't the only one that ran away. I ran away too, so did Tim. The only one who stood up to face the grief was Jason, but he was all alone. I should've checked in on him, he's my responsibility too. He's my little brother. I look back through the foggy glass only to be met with jason's chest covered in blood. There is strange symbol painted on his shuddering chest. He's regained his composure but his limbs still shake like leaves in a strong autumn wind.

The stout man stops to stand in front of him. Why won't this man stop smiling? Words tumble into the air, words I can't comprehend, and I'm screaming so loud my voice starts to go hoarse. Suddenly there is someone standing next to me. I don't have to look to know who it is. They don't try to offer comfort, they don't question me, they don't say a word. The sounds of my fists on the door grows louder, and I realize it's because they're fighting with me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Jason P. Todd**

My blood's still warm when he paints it back on my chest, the sound at the door stops and I wonder if Dick has left for reinforcements. When the man has finished his master piece he steps back. I thought I was tired before, but now…. It's like I barely have the energy to breathe. My skin's coated in sweat and I'm trying so hard to stay awake, though surely sleep would be much more pleasant. When I meet the small man's gaze again I see that sickening smile. Seriously? How much creepier can this guy get? His mouth opens and a slur of words escape, they're in a language I've never encountered before.

I look behind the man and see a small boy, about 15. He's bloody from head to toe, he wears a robin costume. An arm is curled around his middle and he stands crouched over in agony. When he slowly lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine I see the familiar blue. Suddenly I can hear the laughter and the ticking, and the sounds of my bones meeting with metal. In his bloodshot eyes I rewatch my death once, twice, a thousand times in a second. He's me. "Jason, it's going to hurt. It might hurt more than this." hurt more? What is he talking about. He tries to move forward but collapses into himself in pain. "We aren't going to mess up this time, we can do it Jason, we can make him proud again."

Then the pain comes, and the boy is snatched from my vision. First my body starts to tremble, and the breath is stolen from my lungs so fast i can't react. Someone's hand is in my chest, arching my back as it rips through me. Im suspended from the chair as my rigid muscles hold me up. My jaw wrenches open releasing the agonizing shriek that was harboring there. My fingers sprawl open, grasping for something to hold onto, there is nothing. My eyes start to roll back in my head, but I reach for them, begging for them to stay open. I've got to stay conscious. I force them open, and the tears spring from my eyes. The hand that was pulling me up harshly shoves me back into my chair, breaking several of my rigid limbs in the process. I want to scream, to release some of the pain, but there is no oxygen in the air. Bones grind together as I begin to seize. I clench my jaw shut. The pattern on my chest starts to carve itself into my skin. I manage to look down, the blood pooling to the floor. My broken limbs continue to jerk as the spell continues, sending truckloads of panicked pain signals to my already overworked brain. The dark edges of my vision, are coming faster and faster, I'm trying so hard to keep the darkness away.

Just as my world was going to become lost to me, the force inside of me releases and the energy inside me fades rapidly. I collapse into the chair, still trembling with agony as the stream of light retreats into the small coffin across the room. I yell in an attempt to release the pressure building up in my wrecked body, but the sound that comes out of my raw throat is no more than a wheeze. I begin to register sounds again, and I drag my eyes back to the door. I'm met not only with Dick but with Bruce, and Tim. Their faces frozen in horror. I can only imagine what they're seeing. Skin paper white, torn and painted heavily with crimson and sweat, stretched over the thin ghastly skeleton. Purple and blue, dance across that skin coming to rest under the bloodshot eyes. Appendages bending in more places than one, bone playing peek-a-boo with jagged edges. Shivers and trembles surge like waves through the mangled body, each breath fluttering painfully as if fighting its way in and out of scarred lungs. Unrecognizable.

That's when I hear the small explosion. They're trying to break their way in. The man's voice resonated is my disjointed mind. "We have to do this before they get in here." I look to him and respond silently _I know, just get it over with_. For once his face isn't painted with that ghastly smile, as his picks up the blade and stabs it into my chest.

There was this weird moment that ensues, as the blade literally fucking skishkabobbes me, this colorless haze escapes from the cavity. I don't mean it was clear or white, it was just a color I have never seen before, and as I saw it for the first time I saw everything else. I saw my entire life laid in front of me like a jigsaw puzzle. Every joyful moment, every sleepless night, every disappointment, every pleasant surprise. I saw it all. Then it was gone. The man gives me a curt nod of respect and vanishes into thin air.

They burst into the room in a small explosion, and they're beside me. Dick placing his trembling hands on my wound, his face drained of color. Tim busies himself with undoing my bindings, he apologizes breathlessly when he accidentally jostles my broken leg, I don't have the energy to respond. Bruce stands just off to my right frozen in what I can only assume is fear. Dick is yelling at him about something but I can't hear them. The warmth embracing my shattered body, ebbing the pain, cradling me. I have to say something before I slip away. I gather what strength I have left "Not… your...f-fault…" They all jerk their heads to me Dick has his hands on my face, wiping away the tears I didn't know were there. "It's no one's fault Jay. Just keep your eyes open okay?" His voice cracks, and I can see the tape and glue he's using to hold himself together.

It's only then, with the heat of my so called family beside me, with the warmth of their hands tearing away the pain piece by ragged piece. It's only then, with the sounds of the panicked questions, the orders to keep my eyes on them, and the wavering breaths. It's only as the pain becomes too much to bear, as my face contorts and I whimper involuntarily, as the tears fall without end, and without shame. It's only then, I realize how much I don't want to die. How much I want to stay, to prove to them that I can be who they want me to be, that I can be part of the family. I can be better, I can do it right, I can be more. I promise I can.

I want to turn my head to Tim, but my body is stiff and frozen in time. I try to say his name but it comes out as a pitiful cry. His pale face comes into view, his eyes swollen with emotion. "Sorry…" I barely manage the words. He reacts as if someone has kicked him in the gut, folding in two, gasping for air. I watch him cry, i watch him fall apart, break into millions of razor sharp pieces, all because of me. "I forgive you Jason." He croaks out. Good, I need him to forgive me, I need him to know that we are past that. I swallow hard and look past him to meet Bruce's eyes. I remember what it feels like to die, and it's coming fast. The pain so overpowering it begins to flatten out, as if there is no more my brain can register. I take in one more shuddering breath. "Proud?" I wheeze out, heart trembling. His body shudders as if suddenly shocked back to reality. I can feel Tim clutching to my hand like his life depends on it. Bruce steps closer to me, crouching down and taking my other hand. But as he begins to speak the answer I've waited my whole life for i'm distracted by someone behind him. Mom.

"C'mon sweetie, it's almost time for bed." She reaches out for me, no puncture wounds on her arms, no bruises. Her eyes brighter than a million suns. I try to focus back on Bruce, to hear his response. But I hear nothing but my mother's voice. Beside her stands Damian, still in his costume, wound slowly healing as he looks to me. I've never seen the little brat show emotion before but he's crying. "Thank you Jason." _You're welcome kid, you're so welcome._ My eyes begin to slid closed despite my greatest efforts. Someone is screaming my name, the faint touch of hands on my face as the pain resides.

My Mother's hand gently grabs mine and pulls me softly out of the warmth of the darkness, out of the pain, out of my body. I stand strong again, weakness but a distant memory, scars fading almost as rabidly as they appeared. She looks at them as they rapidly evaporate. She places her other hand over my heart, and it seems to radiate warmth, and comfort. But I don't want her to see them, to count them, to have questions. I just want the bookmarks to fall away so I can finally forget. I try to turn away but she stops me. "Don't be ashamed of your scars Jason, they show how strong you've been." And as she takes her hand away, they've all vanished as if they were never there. She looks back to my makeshift family, almost as if she were silently thanking them, and I summon the courage to ask her. "Do you think he's proud of me Mom?" The words feel like shards of glass in my throat, shards that have been there for years. She smiles, and cups my cheek in her hand. I lean into it, remembering the long years I craved for her touch. Her hand slides down grabbing my chin lightly. "Of course baby, why wouldn't he be?" Why wouldn't he be? How could he be?

I look back to them, Dick has given into his emotion and collapsed to the floor at the mercy of the pounding in his chest. Tim shakes my body speaking soothing words for me to open my eyes, to say something, anything. His hands grasping my shoulders so tightly his knuckles turn white. Dick screams something at me out of anger through the tears, but I know he doesn't really mean it, does he? Bruce is still where he was, his hand resting on mine, defeated. He puts and hand on Tim's back and draws him in, holding on desperately. His ears craving the sound of a beating heart.

I stand behind Damian, a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me "Were they this sad when it happened to me?" "Oh kid you don't even know. They were way worse when it was you." He looks back to them and then turns and wraps his arms around my waist. "I won't forget you Todd." I hold him tight and as he slips away I whisper "Don't sweat it kid, it's okay if you do." The monitors begin to beep quietly behind me, drawing them all over to the small boy in the coffin. They search for the words, utterly lost in the grief and the joy and the utter conflict of their emotions. They take their trembling arms, still soaked in blood and tears and fatigue, and they embrace the boy. And when I take my mother's hand, I look back at my body, all alone on the other side of the room. This new life ending as it began, solitude. You see, It's dying that's the easy part; Being remembered, that's what proves challenging.

 **END**

 **There will be an** **Epilogue** **coming so stay tuned!**


	9. Chapter 9

EPILOGUE: CHRISTMAS MORNING

 **Dick J. Grayson**

It's been a strange few months. It's not the house itself that feels different but the entire city. The Red Hood is dead, once again buried 6 feet under. I keep expecting him to just pop out of the ground again and burst through the door. But I don't think it's going to happen this time. It's Christmas morning and everyone is here, well almost everyone. Cassandra and Stephanie are spending Christmas somewhere else. Telling them what had happened was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

After our regular family Christmas festivities we all went off in private to open our presents from Jason. I walk into my room and close the door quietly, walk over to my bed to sit gently on the edge. I've been dreading this for weeks and I hesitate. When I open the box I'm met first with a letter. I swallow hard, trying to fight the emotions surging from the small piece of parchment in my hands.

 **Dick,**

 **I'm not going to do that cheesy shit when I start off the letter with "If you're reading this I'm dead." because that shit's just too cliche for me, but it's true. So congrats! You finally managed to get rid of me! I bet you never thought that would happen again huh? Well, anyway, I have to tell you something and I never had the guts to say it to you in person. Yeah I know, I'm a chicken shit.**

 **Ok, so there was this one day before Dad went to prison, where he decided he'd try his luck on parenting for a few hours. Just so happens that the circus was in town. He snagged some tickets off of an elderly couple in the parking lot and he took me in to see the circus for the first time. Turns out my favorite act was The Flying Graysons. Seeing you guys up there, I don't know gave me some sort of motivation to be something other than my old man. Thank you for that Dick, I'd never thought my childhood hero would end up being my brother.**

 **Don't go around telling everyone, I've managed to keep it a secret this long, I'm not going to let you screw up my track record now that I'm dead. But hey you know me, death never really seems to stick, does it?**

 **-Jason**

I let the tears fall freely from my cheeks to the letter in my hand, after all there is no one around to hide them from. I never knew he saw me and my parents at the circus, but in his defense I don't know how that would casually come up. It's incredible how this tiny world of ours works. I fold the letter back up neatly and put in on my bedside table. When I reach inside the box on my lap I'm met with cold metal. I pull it out I see it's an old batarang. It was probably one of Jason's first, based on the design.

Though this particular batarang is special for another reason, for on it's front face there is a delicately carved and painted family photo. Tears spill over my lashes again, it's beautiful. I lightly run my fingers over the delicate design. Then I turn it over in my hand to find the neat letters carved on the back: "Don't worry, I never used this one to kill anyone. Oh yeah, and I can paint, so what? -JT". I lean back on my bed and hold the object up over my head, never wanting to look away. I try to remember back to when I met the little street rat, and I try to remember when he became so much more.

 **Damian Wayne**

The transition has been relatively easy, considering. I don't remember anything from the first few weeks, but I keep having these strange dreams always involving Todd. I was told what he did for me but I still have trouble wrapping my head around the thought. Todd, trading his life for mine? Father and Pennyworth have tried to make this holiday as "normal" as possible, but as soon as Todd's presents came out everyone grew deathly silent. They all grabbed their respective packages and retreated without so much as a word. So I did the same.

I sit on the floor with Titus, in front of the fireplace. It's a medium sized box and at first I'm apprehensive to open it, but of course I do so anyway. Once opened I am met with a letter, written in fine black ink words on printer paper. I hold it for long seconds before opening it, before reading into the mind of one Jason Todd.

 **Damian**

 **I know you might still be wrapping your head around everything that has happened. Obviously I know how disjointing coming back from the dead can be, so you can trust me when I say the nights get easier. More specifically, the nightmares get easier. And hey, since I literally gave you what was left of my life, I would really appreciate it if you did something extraordinary with it. Deal?**

 **Listen Tater-tot I know we have never gotten along, like EVER, but I think this could be a chance for us to start over. It will super easy since we'll never have to see each other ever again. I might've hated you at times, but you're also my brother and as much as I might not have liked the fact, it was my responsibility to watch over you. I don't know about you but I think this made up for lost time, at least I hope it did.**

 **Keep your nose clean, make good choices, be your best self and whatever you do, don't trust the guy on 6th named Ernie. You got this kid, I have faith in you.**

 **-Jason**

I'm not sure how to respond. I don't really feel an acute sadness, but i feel something. Perhaps just a general loss, the feeling that something is missing. It's true Jason and I didn't have a great relationship, but at times I valued his company, he was occasionally adequate. No, he was more than that, I just can't put my finger on it. I drop the letter on the floor beside me and reach into the box, retrieving his helmet. When I look inside I find a very quaint goat skinned note book. When I open the book to the first page I see yet another handwritten note from Todd. "This is a record of everything I learned from the All Caste. I also thought if you might end up stealing the helmet down the road I might as well give it to you, take care of it, it's been through some shit. - JT"

I never thought I would feel the want to be around Jason Todd, but I do now. I would like for us to just sit silently together, just to have the company. I never realized I enjoyed it. I take the helmet, holding it close to me and with the heat of the fire and of Titus, I drift off to sleep, still clutching it tightly. For what it's worth, I'm grateful Jason, Thank you.

 **Alfred Pennyworth**

The house has been very strange since Master Jason gave his life. I still am unsure of how to approach the topic with even myself, let alone the young sirs. His room remains unchanged, as I assume it always will, I never really have the heart to change a thing. It's better for me to believe that he's still a part of the family, and will remain one indefinitely.

After the table is cleared and the other sirs retreat with their memories, I do so as well. I take the small package and return to the kitchen, sitting down at the small stool by the countertop I set the parcel before me. Taped to the outside is a letter, addressed in small ink lettering on the parchment to me. I gingerly pry the letter off and open it with the utmost of care. Afraid of damaging such a delicate expression of affection.

 **Alfred,**

 **Thank you, for everything. I know that that sounds pretty general but there isn't enough paper in the world for me to write out everything you have done for me. I am eternally grateful, and always will be. You have always been so much more than just a butler, you've been a father, and most importantly a friend.**

 **You opened the manor to me with open arms, teaching me to control my temper, letting me bug you at all hours of the day because somehow, you knew I was lonely. You pushed Bruce into spending time with me, something that he probably wouldn't have done nearly as much if it weren't for you. You gave me a home Alfred, and you gave me a family. And more challenging, you forced me to stay a part of it, even after everything I had done.**

 **You taught me how to cook more than stale noodles, becoming my partner in crime in the kitchen. You kept up with my excessive angry outbursts and mountains of profanity, keeping me firmly but gently in line. I may be a man now, but that's only because you helped guide me into being one. Robin already had a purpose, you gave one to Jason Todd.**

 **Long story short Alfred, thank you. Thank you for being there even when I pushed you away. (Don't tell the others I got soft on you, I have a reputation to uphold)**

 **-Jason**

I hold the letter close to my heart and whisper. "My pleasure Master Jason." I let the words hang in the air before I open the parcel on the counter in front of me. Inside is a medium sized leather bound notebook, each page filled with great detail every recipe that he learned while he was away from home. Old healing stews, and seasoned goat, littered the pages. And on the last page he wrote "I thought I would put these together for you, I would still love the kitchen to be our place. - JT" And of course it will be Master Jason, It will forever be our place.

 **Tim Drake**

After everything happened, it was left to me to venture into Jason's apartment to get the gifts. I opened the door and immediately wished I had made Dick come with me. There was glass on the floor from broken whiskey bottles, there were holes in the far wall, and the mirror had been punched to shards. It hurt to walk into so much of someone's pain. I made my way through the apartment to his bedroom closet but was stopped by the sight of his dresser. All of his usual momentous were gone, replaced by one picture frame lying face down. When I picked it up I saw it was one of the only pictures of all of us. I couldn't take the waves of grief coming down on me so I got the packages and made a break for it back to the manor.

Now months later I sit in my room with my designated gift on the floor in front of my crossed legs. Taped to the front of it is a handwritten letter. I don't want to open it, I just want to go back in time before everything came crashing on top of me. But I owe it to Jason to open it, so I do.

 **Tiny Tim,**

 **I'm sorry. I'm sorry for trying to kill you a shit ton of times and I'm sorry for pushing you away. I don't know about you but I think we did okay. We had some good times right? I'd like to think we did.**

 **Now listen Tim, you only have one life (unless you're me and get stuck with two) so go easy on yourself, get some sleep for christs sake! Get out of the cave and be a kid every once and awhile, because sooner than you think you're going to be all grown up and you won't be able too. I might not have been the best at showing my emotions, but I want you to be happy, all of you. So please, try and be happy.**

 **You might think that Dick is in charge by my accounts but you're wrong, it's you. Surprisingly you're the most emotionally stable one left. As sappy as it sounds I need you to watch out for everyone, especially Alfred. That poor man is so busy trying to make all of the rest of us happy that he forgets to make sure he's happy. Their your responsibility now Tim. You can do it kiddo, I believe in you, for whatever that's worth.**

 **-Jason**

I feel like I'm missing a piece of me, some small piece that I never knew belonged. We aren't the regular family, but we were enough for me. I put the letter next to me and rip back the wrapping paper to reveal a well loved copy of "Catcher In The Rye". I open up the front cover and am met with: "Replacement, Welcome to the mind of Jason Todd. Tread carefully, there's shit everywhere." I let myself laugh, that's the Jason I remember. I flip through the book, his mind spilled out on the margins. From what little I pick up In the few minutes I flip through it is that this was the first thing Bruce bought him when he came to the manor, his favorite song is Yesterday by the Beatles, his most useful tip for being a Robin is thinking about what move batman will do next, not the criminal, and a very short list of the most effective pick up lines.

I couldn't think of anything better to keep Jason with me. He may have been a prick at times, but he was also my big brother and that's what counts.

 **Barbara Gordon**

Confusion. That's all I can register. There a deep ache somewhere in my body but it's the confusion that shines through. Damian's alive, and Jason is back six feet under. Dick's a basket case, it seems like everytime he thinks about it it tears him up all over again. Jason wasn't a normal kid, he was a wrecked man in the shell of who he was before it all turned to shit. He had moments of clarity, but his life was one disaster after another, and he still would manage to climb back on top.

I settle at the dining room table, placing the circular object on the table in front of me. I look at it, confusion. I reach for the letter that is taped to the outside. And with little hesitation I tear it open, hungry for some kind of answer.

 **Babs,**

 **You and me, quite the pair wouldn't you say? We're a lot a like you know, both screwed up by the same madman and both stuck in this sad excuse for a functional family. You are incredible Babs. You manage to stay on your shit even after everything. You're someone I look up to, you have my back. I'm pretty sure you were the only person to ever really believe in me, so thanks for that.**

 **But we have our differences. You remember everything that happens. The sounds in the background. The scents. Everything. Me, I only remember what's important, like the day I met Batgirl. Speaking of which, we never did get around to making those s'mores, we didn't get around to doing a lot of things.**

 **You and me, we made quite the team, and working with you has made me better, a better friend, a better ally, a better person if it's even possible. In all honesty, you're a superhero Babs, not just as Oracle or as Batgirl, but as Barbara Gordon.**

 **-Jason**

There, there's the pain I've been waiting to feel. It hits me hard in the chest, and for a second I forget how to breathe. Jason, you always did have a way of sweeping a girl off her feet. I hold the letter close to me letting myself feel the loss. Letting it hurt before I hide it away again. Folding the letter and placing it gently in my lap, almost afraid it might just disappear.

Reaching up onto the table I uncover my gift. Two silver hubcaps for my wheelchair, each with the Oracle symbol carved into the metal and outlined with black paint. Carved along the edge of one of them is written. "Now you can suit up too. -JT" My heart does that painful flutter again but I push it away, letting myself smile. I look across the table at where he would be sitting, "Thank you Jason. They're perfect." I swear I could hear him say " Like I always said, you're my knight in shining armour." Smile lighting up the room for the first time in years.

 **Bruce Wayne**

Christmas has never been my scene, I'm not good at being fun and festive, especially this year. I sit and watch Damian for several minutes before going downstairs with my gift, which in comparison to the others is quite large. I haul it downstairs and sit down in front of the computer Setting the gift down beside me and peeling off the letter that was stuck to the outside. I hesitate, I don't know if I'll be able to do this, I failed Jason, in every way possible, what good things could he possibly have to say to me?

I can't open it now, I'll open it later. I rip the paper off the package and am greeted with a tire from the batmobile. The same tire that I caught Jason stealing all those years ago in crime alley. I run my hands across the surface, letting myself feel the memories as they crash on top of me, one after another, never giving me the chance to breathe. Then I feel something rough with the edge of my finger. I look close to find the tiny letters "I forgive you Dad, now it's your turn to forgive yourself." Dad. He hasn't called me that in a long time.

One of the hardest things is when someone asks me how many kids I have. I'm not sure how to respond. It should be an easy answer right? But it's not, and if we're being honest, I don't know. I stand and walk over Jason's display case, with his old robin suit. Next to it is a small concealed shelf that Alfred had installed years ago. On it are pictures, and report cards, birthday cards and all the other normal kid things. I take the Tire and rest it against the base and in passing rip the plaque from the metal stand. I'll have to get it changed, what was I thinking? He's always been more that a soldier to me.

I approach my chair once more settling back into it and retrieve the letter from the floor. Holding it, I realize my hands are trembling. But I persevere, unfolding the parchment and reading the neat ink letters written upon it.

 **Bruce,**

 **I'm not your fault. You didn't create me, I did. But I'm not all bad, I don't spend my nights running around hoping to see some bad guys so I could shoot them in the face, I promise. On the nights when the crime is light, I would sneak into the kids hospital rooms and just talk with them. They all thought I was some kind of superhero. Cute kids.**

 **In all honesty I would like to thank you for seeing the good in me all those years ago. For scooping me off the street and giving me a shot at a better life. I tried my best, despite what the outcomes might suggest. For the longest time I just wanted you to be proud of me, hell I still do. Every move I made, every thought that ran through my mind. What would Bruce think? I hope I finally did.**

 **I know we aren't a picture perfect family, but you're a good father. Dick, Tim, even little Demon spawn, they all are turning out pretty good. Becoming what they want to be, growing into their true selves. You once told me Bruce, focus on what I want to achieve and it'll happen. I realized that I don't want to be a superhero, I don't want to be a villain, I don't want to be a marter. No, I don't want any of that. I just want to be Jason Todd, and he died a long time ago.**

 **-Jason**

When I lift my eyes from the paper I'm met with the faint memory of a small boy. He's standing on the batmobile, ready to go out on patrol for the first time. He looks at his suit, finally getting a chance to feel like a real superhero. He stops looking at himself and looks up at me. He smiles the biggest brightest smile I have ever seen, and I return it just as bright. Through his grin he says "This is the best day of my life!" Then he fades away, for the last time.

 **That's the end of Famous Last Words! I hope you enjoyed it, there will be a brief sequel with Damian so stay tuned**


	10. Chapter 10

**So I had made this a separate story but I thought it would just be easier to add it on to this one since they are the same story anyways. Please enjoy and** **review!**

\- Three months after Jason's death -

Out in the cold Gotham air, a young man stands on a rooftop draped in crimson and black. The wind teases the boy's thick leather jacket, the shoulders far too wide to fit his nimble frame. He drapes his hand on top of the gargoyle's head, the stone speaking painful memories. The sun will be up in a few hours, his patrol is coming to an end. Under the blood red helmet he swears he can hear laughter, the kind of laughter you hear after you've been lovingly teased. The boy hears it all the time.

With the swiftness of a strong wave he leaps off the rooftop to the shouting below, landing silently amidst the human trash that litters the alley. Slowly the boy stands up straight and takes the handguns from their holsters. "Who the fuck are you? The Red Hood's dead kid, move on!" The other animals laugh, but the boy doesn't dare let them get away with a comment like that. Move on? How could he? He lifts the guns to the pig's knee, letting the metal do the talking for him, blasting a hole the size of an apple in the meaty leg. He tried to hit the kneecap dead on, but his aim isn't nearly as good as the real Red Hood; so when the real fight begins, he drops the heavy weapons and pulls out his blade.

A butcher would have been cleaner, there is blood and disembodied limbs scattered across the pavement. Tears stung under the crimson helmet, anger and guilt, and sorrow, taking turns kicking him in the gut with steel plated boots. It hurt to think about it. When the boy returns home his father was waiting, a dark tower of regret and disappointment that the boy now assumed came with the helmet. This has been happening for the past few months, ever since he took the hood alias for a test drive.

"What were you thinking? You put three men in the ICU and _**killed**_ the other two! This is not what we stand for!" The man paces, a hand grasping the back of his neck in distress. The boy doesn't answer, he won't, he can't, not with the emotions clouding his brain. He tries to walk away, but a strong hand grabs his shoulder stopping him. "What has gotten into you? This has to stop! I'm taking you out of the field, you've given me no choice, son." Small words tumble out of the boy's lips, they are quiet, angry and unable to be understood. "Like you can stop me." "What did you just say?" boiling anger in both men. The boy repeats his words, still too quiet. "Take off the goddamn helmet Damian!" He tries to reach over, to take the mask off the child, but the boy fights back.

He rips his shoulder out of the man's grasp and steps back, screaming. "I CAN'T STOP! I CAN'T! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I DON'T THINK YOU'RE CAPABLE!" he dodges the next grab and continues shouting at the man. "YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! ALL YOU DO IS GET EVERYONE AROUND YOU KILLED!" The room is suddenly silent. The seconds ooze past, molasses dripping from the boy, crumbles to his knees, head in his hands, body at the will of his mind, crying. The man stands frozen a few feet away, feeling as if his heart is trapped in a vise, getting tighter with every second, with every breath. He approaches the boy, crouching next to him, pulling the helmet off his head.

For a second he holds the red metal in his grasp, letting the past twist the blade of guilt that he and the boy now share. He sets it down gently before speaking."You're right Damian. People around me get hurt. And it's true that I hurt him a lot when he was alive, but I didn't kill Jason, and neither did you." This is the first time Jason's name has been spoken for months. It just hurt too much to talk about it. The man wipes the salty trails away from the boy's face, lifting his chin so that their eyes meet. "I know you know this deep down, somewhere in your head, but Jason's death was not your fault." But what the man has forgotten is that knowing, and believing are two very different pieces of the puzzle.

The boy returns to his room without eating, he closes the door silently and locks it behind him; not like there is anyone left to intrude. He's the only one left. Tim's with the titans. Dick and Barbara are in Bludhaven. Steph and Cass are out in the world on their own. And Damian… Damian is here, trapped in the guilt of the past. He shuffles over to his desk in socked feet and sits. Pulls out yet another piece of parchment and a pen and begins to write.

Todd,

I disappointed Father again tonight. I just wanted to try and be the "Red Hood" but I just get so angry and carried away. I think I'm now starting to understand what you meant about feeling like you could never make Father proud, and I'm sorry for disregarding how that feels. I know that if you were here you would just tell me to improve and move on, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I think you were right when you said that we could try our relationship again even though you're gone. I'm trying to be better. I'm going to be better. I will. I promise.

Father says your death is not my fault, and I know that logically that is true. It was not my fault you became terminally ill. For some reason part of me refuses to think logically. I feel guilt. I hate that I feel guilt. It would be nice to talk to you again Jason, there isn't anyone left at the manor to speak with beside Pennyworth, and he's busy most of the time. I'm beginning to feel the effects of loneliness. I know I promised you that I would do something extraordinary with my life, but what is extraordinary?

All that aside, I'm grateful Jason, for whatever that's worth.

-Damian Wayne

P.S - You were right, the nightmares do get easier.

He folds the small fragment of vulnerability and tucks it into an envelope. He licks the letter closed, never to be opened again, and sets it in the box under his bed with all of the rest. As he climbs into bed he tells himself that things will be better soon, that he will make sure of it, and he lets his eyes slide shut. Safe in the knowledge that he is not alone, nor will he ever be. Just before slipping away he whispers into the darkness: "Talk to you tomorrow." And with that he falls into a deep sleep, full of adventures that will never be had.

 **Just because this story is complete doesn't mean it should stop you from leaving a review! I love hearing from you guys.**

 **Till next time, MS**


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